Monday, April 16, 2012

Sketch: PBJ in NOLA Hotel

A friend of mine is
staying at a hotel in New Orleans that leaves out peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches and pitchers of milk in the lobby after 11 pm. It made me think of
the following.

INT. Hotel lobby. 11:20 Beautiful, polished marble floors. Dark wood walls.
Glittery chandelier. A young busboy with a meticulous haircut and a clean white
jacket carries in a silver tray of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and sets
it on the front desk. He walks away.

Close up ofPBand J: the supermodel of all sandwiches.

Busboy walks back in with a pitcher of ice-cold milk and
sets it on top of a circular cork placemat. He fusses to make the presentation
neat. Exits.

Wide shot of lobby: floor, wood, chandelier, PB and J
station. We hear the sound of husky, drunken frat boys, yelling/laughing OS.
One guy comes half tumbling through the door, his overcoat fallen off to one
side. The other two run in after him.

Told you Sam.

Shut the hell up Ranson.

Shhhh

Who the fuck are you? My Grandmother?

The hell is that?

Huh?

Look.

Probably someone’s room service.

Shit.

Take one.

Ranson picks up a triangle and stuffs the entire thing into
his mouth.

Fuckin slob.

Sam takes one and stuffs it in his mouth. The two of them
stand there, mouths completely full, staring at each other and chewing like
apes. Robert, who has been hanging back, walks up to the tray and carefully
selects one triangle. He wraps it in a paper napkin. He picks up a glass and
sets it upright on the desk and pours himself a glass of milk, and then steps
past his friends and heads toward the elevator.

Sam and Ranson eye the whole thing and then each other,
still chewing. Sam turns to follow and gives Robert a shove. A splat of milk
slaps onto the floor.

Fuck. What.

Where are you going douche?

Robert stares at him and waits for the elevator.

You’re a fucking child.

You’re a fucking child (mouth still completely full).

Still over at the desk, Ranson turns and walks towards his
friends. He trips and falls on his face. The elevator arrives and the two
others step in. We see a hand holding it open as they wait for Ranson to pick
himself up and walk over. Door closes.
Ding.

INT. Hotel Lobby. 12:07 am. Close up on splat of milk on clean
marble floor. We hear footsteps. Move up to entrance of well-dressed couple,
40s. The woman walks ahead with the deliberate intention of an extremely drunk
person. The man behind her staggers in 20 paces behind. He stops in front of
the mirror at the entrance and stares at himself, swaying. The woman walks up
to the desk.

Babe….Babe……Babe.

Every time she says the word babe, she waits patiently for a
response, though she appears to be hypnotized by the sandwiches.

Babe, you want one?...babe…Mmhavinglooksgood.

The man stares at his face in the mirror, his head lolling.

The woman chews the sandwich. Again, slowly and
deliberately. She leans forward on the desk, her back to the man.

The man looks at his chin in the mirror with utter despair.
He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, the deepest longest sigh in the history
of all time.

The woman sets her sandwich down on the desk and pours
herself a glass of milk, half of it missing the mark. She takes a sip, sets it
down next to the sandwich and walks towards the elevator. The man’s shoulders
drop, he hangs his head and begins to weep.

Babe.

The woman holds the elevator door.

Babe… Frank….Come on… Don’t be a jackass.

Frank turns and walks over to the elevator. The longest,
slowest, saddest walk in the history of all time. He gets in. The door closes. Ding.

INT. Hotel lobby. 12:30. Woman walks in with a baby over her
shoulder. She is pulling a suitcase and holding the hand of a 4-year-old
sleepwalking boy. She walks over to the armchair next to the desk and sets the
baby down, parks the suitcase next to the chair and picks up the boy.

Where’s Daddy?

He’s not coming.

Is he mad at me?

No my sweetie.

He lays his head on her shoulder and she walks to the desk.

Look at this….look what someone left for you.

What.

A little sandwich. Look, you want one?

Uh-huh.

How did they know to make your favorite?

The boy eats his sandwich and the mother walks back to the
chair opposite the first one and sets him down. She walks back to the desk and
takes one. Then she picks up some napkins and wipes the spill on the desk and
throws them out. Still eating the triangle, she grabs another pile and walks to
the splat in the middle of the floor. She wipes it absently, throws the napkins
in the can and goes to sit with her son on the chair. From OS we can hear the
elevator doors open. Ding.

Subscribe via email

Friends and Family

Followers

About Me

I have 3 children, 7 parents and am the oldest of 10 kids who did not grow up in the same house. I talk to dogs, people in line, and occasionally to myself. Sometimes I feel like I am part of a walking carnival.